The Gift of Words
by bingblot
Summary: <html><head></head>She found the first note when she opened her copy of "Frozen Heat" one day. And then she found that he'd written her notes in some of her other books too. It gave her a little thrill whenever she pulled a book off her bookshelf to see if he'd written her a note in it. Short, fluffy one-shot set mostly in S5 with some S6, with references to the dedication of "Frozen Heat."</html>


Disclaimer: All things "Castle" belong to ABC and Andrew Marlowe.

Author's Note: After all the angst of 7x1, I felt like going back to something a little happier. Some fluff set mostly in S5 with a little bit of S6.

**The Gift of Words**

She found the first note when she opened her copy of "_Frozen Heat_" one day. She'd been having a lazy day and decided to reread it and it was there, on the dedication page.

The actual printed dedication had made her melt a little the first time she'd read it at the reminder of what he'd said to her that terrible, wonderful day in her apartment after he'd finally confessed to her about Smith and the deal he'd made. She had been too angry at him, too stung by the sense of betrayal, at the time to appreciate the words but afterwards, oh afterwards, she remembered all he'd said, treasured the words. And promised herself that she would never bring that desolate expression to his face again.

Now, she read this new dedication in his handwriting and melted even more.

_For you, Kate, beautiful, extraordinary you. Always. Love, Rick. _

After that, she investigated her other copies of the Nikki Heat books. Sure enough, he had written in them too.

In "_Heat Wave_," he had written _Nikki doesn't do justice to you. _

In "_Naked Heat_"—_You're much sexier in person than Nikki will ever be on the page. _She had rolled her eyes a little at that one but couldn't help but smile.

In "_Heat Rises_," the book he had already signed, his signature a quick, angry scrawl after that long summer after her shooting—_I'll stand beside you, always. _

She didn't know when he'd written these notes but she'd known for years that he touched things in her apartment whenever he had a chance. She grumbled at him sometimes for moving some of her things or for prying but part of her couldn't help but love the fact that he still found her so endlessly fascinating. Even after all these years, knowing her as well as he did, he still wanted to know more about her, still wanted to look at and touch everything she owned, learn the story behind every item.

She assumed that was it but discovered she'd been wrong when she went to reread one of James Patterson's books one day and glimpsed the familiar handwriting as she flipped to the first chapter.

She was annoyed. What made him think he could just write in any book she owned, even the ones that had nothing to do with him? Writing in his own books, she could understand. They were his books; he could write in them just as if she'd gone to one of his book signings. But her other books? She was going to have words with him about this.

And then she realized that yes, he'd left her a note but the note had been on a post-it he had stuck into the book and he hadn't written on the book itself.

No, she couldn't be annoyed at him for that. She had to smile a little at this sign that he knew her well enough to know she would mind if he actually wrote in her books.

The note in the Patterson book read _You own too many Pattersons but I forgive you. _

She laughed aloud.

After that, it gave her a new thrill whenever she pulled a book off her bookshelf to wonder if he had left a note in it.

She didn't find notes in all her books. But she did find more notes.

In her Russian-English Dictionary—_How do you say 'I love you' in Russian? _

In her copy of Tolstoy's _"War and Peace_"in the original Russian—_say something in Russian the next time we're in bed. That would be so hot. _She laughed again. And she did as he asked. And yes, he did seem to find it hot.

Aside from that, though, and she wasn't quite sure why, she never mentioned finding any of his notes to him. But she knew he knew she was finding them and maybe that was all he needed.

She loved finding his little notes. All her books meant something to her but having his notes in them gave them some added meaning so now, her books weren't important only because of her; they were important because of him too. Because of his words that he wrote to her, for her.

In her copy of "_Flowers For Your Grave_," he wrote _The book that led me to you. _

In her copy of "_A Skull in Springtime_"—_This was a terrible book. I think it sold less than 10 copies. And you own one. Have I mentioned that I love that you're a fan? _

In her copy of the poems of Pablo Neruda—he had quoted Neruda by writing "I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly without complexities or pride. I love you because I know no other way than this."Underneath this, he wrote, _It's not only the songs that make sense. Poems make sense too. _

In her copy of the complete collection of all the Sherlock Holmes stories—_I may be biased but I think Detective Kate Beckett could give Sherlock Holmes a run for his money any day. _She had laughed and shaken her head. Dear, crazy man.

In her copy of _"Sonnets From the Portuguese"_—_"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways…" I love your smile. Your courage. Your strength. Your compassion. Your eyes. Your scars, both the visible ones and the ones that are not. Your sense of justice. Your heart. The way you let me love you. _

In her copy of the collected mysteries of Edgar Allen Poe—_Admit it, Beckett. You bought this only because you knew I admired Poe enough to change my middle name to Edgar. _

In her copy of Edgar Allen Poe's poetry, he had again written a quote. "We loved with a love that was more than love…"

In her copy of "_And Then There Were None_" by Agatha Christie—_I admit it. I can't write mysteries as well as Dame Agatha could. _

In an anthology of the best-known English poetry, she found another note with a somewhat altered quote. _All that's best of dark and bright meet in your aspect and your eyes. (Don't give me that look, Beckett. I never claimed to be a poet and just because Byron wrote it first doesn't make it any less true about you.) _

He found her copy of "_Storm Warning_," which he had already signed at one of his long-ago book signings. At the time, he had only written the very impersonal, generic message, "For Kate. Thanks for reading. Rick Castle." Now, beneath that, she found another note. _You're my favorite fan. Always. _

In "_Storm Fall_," he wrote _I killed off Derrick Storm because I was bored with him and wanted something new. I found more than I even knew I was looking for. I found the rest of my life. Or should I say, the rest of my life found me. _

She came across her copy of "_A Rose for Everafter_" when she was going through her books, trying to decide which of her favorite ones she wanted to take with her to D.C., while putting the rest of her books into boxes to store while she sub-let her apartment. She wasn't sure what made her open it. She didn't think he would leave her a note in the book he had originally dedicated to Kyra.

She was wrong. He had written a note, just beneath the printed dedication. _Kate, you are the love of my life. _

Tears suddenly pricked at the back of her eyes through her smile. Because he must have written this weeks ago. When she had been wondering what they had, where they were going, whether they were only dating… While she had been doubting his commitment, he had already committed himself through his words. As he had always done, she suddenly thought. He had gifted her with his words long before she'd met him and even now, he was still gifting her with his words. It was what he did.

And now, it was time for her to give him some of her own words.

She wasn't quite as comfortable with actually writing in his books as he was so she left post-its and little slips of paper in his books for him to find while she was in D.C. Short messages, little pieces of her left in the loft so that, even while she was so far away, she could still surprise him a little.

In "_Heat Rises_"—_I missed you. I wanted to call you. I should have called you but I knew I wasn't ready for __us__ yet. But I missed you every day, every hour. _

In "_Frozen Heat_"—_I love you. Always. _

In "_Kissed and Killed_"—_This was the first of your books I ever read. My mom was reading it when she died and afterwards, I read it to feel closer to her._

In "_Storm Warning_"—_Your words saved me when I was drowning._

In "_Flowers For Your Grave_"—_I was nervous that I would act like a fangirl when I realized that I would have to question you over Allison Tisdale's death. And then I met you. _

He never mentioned the notes but she knew he found them because on one of her quick weekend visits to the City, she checked and had to laugh because underneath her note, he had written, _You know you wanted me even then, Beckett. _

In "_Hell Hath No Fury_"—_This was the first book of yours I regretted buying before I read it. I wasn't sure I wanted to keep it but I did anyway, even though I never read it again. Maybe somehow I knew I'd want to have all your books one day. _

In "_Storm Fall_"—_You told me once that you can't imagine your life without me. I can't say the same. I __can__ imagine my life without you. I can imagine it all too well. It's how I know I never want to live that life. _

In "_Storm's Last Stand_"—_Sometimes I wonder why you love me, after how I treated you at first, after how long I made you wait. I'm still not sure I understand it but thank you for loving me. _

In "_Gathering Storm_"—_This is my favorite Derrick Storm book. I'm not sure why; it just is. _

She left her last note in his first book, figuring it would be the one he found the last. In "_In a Hail of Bullets_," she wrote, _Rick, you are the love of my life. _

And one day, after she'd moved back to the City, she caught a glimpse of something new, something that hadn't been there before, a post-it affixed to the far corner of his desk, and although she generally didn't use his desk—it was his space, where he did his writing—she rounded his desk to look.

It was her note, her handwriting, taped to the corner of the desk so that he would see it every time he sat at his desk, as if it were the inspiration he always needed to see before he wrote anything. _I love you. Always. _

_~The End~_

Author's Note 2: The quote Castle wrote in the book of Pablo Neruda's poetry is a translation of one of Neruda's sonnets. "Sonnets from the Portuguese" is a collection of love sonnets written by Elizabeth Barrett Browning and the first line of the most famous sonnet, Number 43, is the one Castle quoted. The quote in the book of Poe's poetry is from Poe's poem, "Annabel Lee." The quote in the other poetry book is from Lord Byron's "She Walks in Beauty Like the Night."

The titles of Castle's books that may not be familiar are taken from Castle's Wikipedia page.

Thoughts?


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